“The only way on earth to cure it is through forgiveness. That, and that only, will ease it all away, and leave you happy and free for life and love. So long as you let this rancour eat in your heart, Ruth, you are not, and never can be, normal. You must forgive them, dear, hear what they have to say, and give them the comfort of seeing what they can discover of her in you. Then your heart will be at rest at last, your soul free, you can take your rightful place in life, and the love you crave will awaken in your heart. Ruth, dear you are the acme of gentleness and justice. Be just and gentle now! Give them their chance! My heart aches, and always will ache for the pain you have known, but nursing and brooding over it will not cure it. It is going to take a heroic operation to cut it out, and I chose to be the surgeon. You have said that I once saved your body from pain Ruth, trust me now to free your soul.” “What do you want?” “I want you to speak kindly to this man, who through my act has come here, and allow him to tell you why he came. Then I want you to do the kind and womanly thing your duty suggests that you should.” “David, I don t understand you!” “That is no difference,” said the Harvester. “The point is, do you TRUST me?” The Girl hesitated. “Of course I do,” she said at last. “Then hear what your grandfather's friend has come to say for him, and forget yourself in doing to others as you would have them----really, Ruth, that is all of religion or of life worth while. Go on, Mr. Kennedy.” The Harvester drew up a chair, seated himself beside the Girl, and taking one of her hands, he held it closely and waited. “I was sent here by my law partner and my closest friend, Mr. Alexander Herron, of Philadelphia,” said the stranger. “Both he and Mrs. Herron were bitterly opposed to your mother's marriage, because they knew life and human nature, and there never is but one end to men such as she married.” “You may omit that,” said the Girl coldly. “Simply state why you are here.” “In response to an inquiry from your husband concerning the originals of some photographs he sent to a detective agency in New York. They have had the case for years, and recognizing the pictures as a clue, they telegraphed Mr. Herron. The prospect of news after years of fruitless searching so prostrated Mrs. Herron that he dared not leave her, and he sent me.” “Kindly tell me this,” said the Girl. “Where were my mother's father and mother for the four years immediately following her marriage?” “They went to Europe to avoid the humiliation of meeting their friends. There, in Italy, Mrs. Herron developed a fever, and it was several years before she could be brought home. She retired from society, and has been confined to her room ever since. When they could return, a search was instituted at once for their daughter, but they never have been able to find a trace. They have hunted through every eastern city they thought might contain her.”